Page 47 of No Pucks

He growls in response.

I grip myself, rubbing my tongue along the inside of my cheek. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Smug fucking bastard...” he mutters under his breath and takes a seat in his chair.

I stroll over to his desk to look at what he was reading. It’s a roster, but he puts his hand over it before I can get any information.

“I was trying to read that.”

“Eyes up here and sit down.”

I glance between him and the office door before shrugging. “If you insist.” Before he can argue, I plant one knee next to his hip and straddle his lap.

His expression morphs from stoic to shock and finally settles into rage, but under the firm line of his lips, arousal sparks and heat burns between us. He also doesn’t tell me to get off.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask when he doesn’t speak.

He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath. “About this.”

“So talk.” I roll my ass ever so subtly.

“Fuck...”

“If you’re offering…” I fight my grin, knowing how much it will piss him off, but I can’t help it.

“I can’t focus with your ass on my cock.”

“Will it be easier for you to speak if I get off?” I grind my dick into his abs.

“Getting off in my office can’t happen.”

“I meant get off your lap, but an orgasm would be good for us both.” I glance between us, watching my bulge edge his shirt up.

He grips my arms. “I can’t believe you’re wearing my shirt. Someone is going to notice.”

“It’s a t-shirt, calm down.” I brush my fingers over his dick through his pants.

“That I wore in front of the team last night. You can’t put it out there like that.” His words come between jagged breaths.

“I told you I didn’t have another option. No one noticed,” I say then hesitate. Is that what the twin noticed? I push the notion out of my mind. He’s just disgruntled because I left early.

“You don’t know that. Gossip starts innocuously and can put us both under a microscope.” He grabs my hip but doesn’t do what I expect. Instead of stopping me, he guides my ass over his cock, pressing me into his hardness. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you want me to get off your lap?” I ask again.

“No—yes.” He exhales heavily.

I slide off his lap to kneel between his knees, hooking my fingers into his waistband.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You talk, I’ll play.” I work to open the button on his jeans, but he grabs my wrists.

“Logan.”

I flick my gaze up to meet his, waiting. I know when to fight and when to let him lead. “Yes?”

“If we are going to?—”

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